


Break

by sithmarauder (fantasyrose)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Music, Possession, Routine, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasyrose/pseuds/sithmarauder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only he can make Austria crack in such a small amount of time, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break

**Author's Note:**

> The series does not belong to me.

Everyone needs a little release. This is Prussia's reasoning as he stakes out Austria's house once more, humming absently to the faint trickle of piano music he can hear coming from the window above him. Everyone needs to let go, just a little bit. That's exactly what he tells West, is it not? "Geez, West, lighten the hell up, yeah?" It can't be good to be so uptight all the time. That's why they're not as awesome as he is, Prussia knows.

It still amuses him, though, just how much everyone underestimates Austria. Yeah, he may not be the absolute epitome of badass (that honour belongs to Prussia himself, the silver-haired nation thinks smugly) on or off the battlefield, but he's not the pansy everyone makes him out to be, either. Prussia is almost certain that none of the others have seen Austria completely lose his cool; they have never seen how those violet eyes snap and burn with a raging fire, nor have they witnessed the way his body tenses so beautifully as he tries to reign his frustration in. And when he snaps, well, that's all the better to Prussia. For when Austria finally lets the aggravation bleed out of him, Prussia is there to help him. And help him he does, in his own little way.

He supposes that many would consider it immoral – taking advantage of someone in a moment of weakness – but Prussia doesn't see it that way, and he knows Austria doesn't, either. It's merely necessity, is it not? The carnal desire, the wanton lust – separate phrases for what is inevitably the same thing.

Why he loves Austria has never been a subject for pondering. He just does, and he accepts it. That's not to say he couldn't list reasons if asked, of course – he could come up with a dozen such reasons on the spot without pausing to think. Austria is beautiful. And underneath his prim and proper exterior, he's just as juvenile as Prussia. Just as perverted as France. Just as cynical as England. All in his own little way.

Prussia loves the way he tries to hide it. It makes breaking him all the more worthwhile.

Smirking, Prussia reaches up to grab on to the edge of the windowsill and hauls himself up through the open pane, slapping a roguish grin across his face as his boots hit the polished marble floor, causing Austria's fingers to stiffen as he abruptly ends whatever deceptively docile melody he had been playing at the time.

"Prussia." An adjusting of his glasses as Austria turns his head. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, Specs, I'm here to bestow upon you the awesomeness that is me!"

Same as always indeed, this routine – the verbal banter, where Prussia loudly goads Austria off the piano bench so that the aristocratic nation stands in front of him, arms crossed and lips deliciously pursed, looking as stern and disapproving as ever. And in the span of a few minutes, all of that is gone. The misleadingly cold expression in his eyes, replaced by the same angry fire; the stiff posture Austria so often possesses, substituted for the tense curling of his hands into fists. Prussia knows it all, and he can map out exactly what will happen next.

Only he can make Austria crack in such a small amount of time, after all.

The kisses are fierce and passionate as Prussia's hands make their way down the back of Austria's body, squeezing and stroking in the right places as Austria groans lightly, his teeth drawing together in a hiss that makes Prussia smirk. This is the Austria he loves – the wild, uncontrollable part; the part that only he gets to see, the part that only he can evoke oh so easily, with so few words.

Prussia laughs lowly as Austria's nimble fingers undo the buttons on his white shirt with practiced ease, and he brings his own hands up to slid under Austria's shirt as the violet-eyed nation's breath catches once more.

Once, and only once, have they ever been caught – discovered by one of Austria's many servants. And even then, they had shrugged it off. She wouldn't tell, and if she did, no one she told mattered.

Prussia moans as Austria connects their lips again, and his fingers dip lightly under the waistband of the Austrian's pants, eliciting a growl from deep within the pianist's throat. Slowly, Austria seems to realize that they are still standing in front of the window, where anyone passing can see, and Prussia gives him a cocky smirk before bearing the other nation to the ground, relishing in the feel of Austria's body below his as the man shudders, his body coming into contact with the cold marble.

"Not so mighty, are you?" Prussia purrs against Austria's neck as slender fingers thread into his hair. "I don't think you ever were."

Austria doesn't let the comment go unpunished, biting Prussia's neck harshly – enough to draw blood, which he licks slowly and sensually, making Prussia pant as he works on Austria's pants, pushing them down as far as he can, followed quickly by his own.

He almost wishes the other nations could see this now – this, the real Austria, fierce, possessive, mercurial. Not what he usually is – the image he presents to them constantly. Prussia imagines that Austria's little Swiss ex-friend would get a real kick out of it.

The sudden thought makes Prussia snarl, and he quickly pushes the neutral nation out of his mind and turns his attention back to Austria, who has glanced up with faint concern in his half-lidded eyes.

"Something the matter, Prussia?" His tone is sultry, even though Prussia knows Austria is serious about the question. Austria is usually serious. That's one thing he doesn't lie about. It even transfers to his sense of humour, which is dry and so subtle that people often don't realize they've been insulted until months later, at the dinner table.

Prussia mutters something about 'neutral bastards' that he isn't sure Austria catches before he attacks the aristocrat's neck again, reveling in the tiny, surprised cry that erupts from Austria's throat. The brown-haired nation's body shivers and twists as Prussia works his way downward before coming to the area that needs the most attention, but instead of giving the Austrian what he so clearly desires, Prussia purrs and slides back up the other's lithe body, the light in his eyes mischievous.

"Lube, Specs? Surely you have some."

Austria is panting hard, but even so he manages to give Prussia a scathing, irritated look.

"There's some in the piano bench. Don't ask."

"Kinky, little master," is all Prussia says as he moves up enough to open the piano bench, rummaging around inside until he finds the blue-lidded container. Popping the lid with a self-righteous sense of satisfaction, Prussia positions himself over Austria again, running one hand up and down the Austrian's side, stroking and tracing as he slicks up two fingers.

"Ready, Specs?"

"Don't tease me, Pruss – aah!"

"Hmm?" Prussia hums as Austria's head hits the marble floor harshly. Prussia has moved quickly, sliding the first digit in, followed quickly by the second once Austria has adjusted. "You know, Specs," Prussia begins as Austria groans and bucks his hips, a direct result of Prussia thrusting in a couple times with his fingers. "I think I love you. Just a bit."

"Don't say… such things," Austria gasps as Prussia scissors lightly.

"But I do," Prussia continues, seemingly undeterred as he removes the digits and grabs the lube again, slicking up his own member as he positions himself appropriately above the aroused aristocrat. "I really. Fucking. Love you." Those last two sentences are enunciated with a kiss to Austria's neck, followed by a chaste kiss on his lips. On the third, Prussia slides himself in, watching in silent amusement as Austria's eyes roll back, the man groaning again, his hands trailing up and down Prussia's sides, teasing and merciless, making Prussia abandon his observations and growl possessively, sealing their lips in a burning kiss.

He has not forgotten how good being inside Austria feels. Austria is hot and tight still, all the good things a partner was supposed to be during sex, Prussia thinks privately as Austria rolls his hips, a signal to continue. Like he needs prompting.

Slowly but surely, Prussia increases the rhythm until Austria is all but screaming beneath him as Prussia hits that certain spot, finding it easily after so many times before. And when he comes, it is loud, Austria's name on his lips as he hears an answering call from the man below him, and then it's a white-hot flash and everything is over.

Rolling off the Austrian, Prussia turns to glance at him once, red eyes inquiring as Austria pants, his chest heaving heavily as he struggles to regain the shell of his composure.

"I meant what I said," Prussia says idly as Austria turns towards him, the exhaustion written cleanly and clearly across his face. "You're fucking gorgeous, and I love you."

He's not sure whether he should laugh at the incredulous expression on Austria's face, or be hurt by it. He opts for the neutral option: returning his gaze to the ceiling. He has told Austria that he loves him many times before, of course – always when the other man had drifted to sleep, curled up into Prussia's side as he unconsciously seeks warmth.

"I…"

He is silenced as Prussia kisses him, violet eyes sliding shut at the unexpected gentleness of it all.

"Only I can see you like this," Prussia hisses then. "Just me – not West, not Spain, and not that trigger-happy Swiss bastard!"

"He's only trigger-happy when Italy streaks across his land," Austria murmurs lightly, but he doesn't argue, and he doesn't say anything besides that.

Later, when Prussia has managed to move both himself and his host to the master bedroom, he reflects once more on what is rightfully his, and what has been his for a very longer time – longer than anyone would care to know. Austria is his, and every breath, every moan, every ardent action he makes, belongs solely to Prussia.

Only he can make Austria break.

And as he slowly drifts into sleep, he hears a shuffling noise beside him as Austria places a tender kiss on his brow, his hands softly resting on the sides of Prussia's head.

"Ich liebe dich auch."

Everyone needs a little release. And sometimes, Prussia thinks he enjoys it just a little more than Austria does.


End file.
